


In the Blood

by Josselin



Series: Blood [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: Damen’s father had warned him about Veretians. They were untrustworthy and didn’t hold to their word. “There’s a taint in their bloodline,” Theomedes had said.  When Damen had questioned his father about what he meant, his father only said, “You will know when you meet one of them,” and “Always fight a Veretian in the noon sunlight.”





	1. Chapter 1

Damen’s father had warned him about Veretians. They were untrustworthy and didn’t hold to their word. “There’s a taint in their bloodline,” Theomedes had said. When Damen had questioned his father about what he meant, his father only said, “You will know when you meet one of them,” and “Always fight a Veretian in the noon sunlight.”

Damen’s duel with the Crown Prince Auguste had been in the afternoon, and over before twilight, but he still hadn’t understood what his father had meant. 

After his father’s death, when Damen found himself in Arles, in chains, and presented on his knees in front of the second prince of Vere, he understood, suddenly. Laurent of Vere had a face that undoubtedly many sculptors had immortalized, and he had a lean, quick, and graceful way of moving. Yet there was something about him that made Damen wish they were out in the sunlight on the deck of the ship he had arrived in, and not in the shadows of the prince’s salon. 

Damen’s wishes no longer had any consequence; Laurent had him in chains and had enough guards that their meetings were only going to take place at the locations of Laurent’s choosing. 

Laurent chose that their next meeting took place in the middle of the night. Damen had been sleeping, and was awoken by the arrival of guards dragging the metal of his chains and a servant carrying in a torch and putting it in the sconce on the bare stone wall. 

Laurent was spoilt; fruit too long on the vine. He had heavy eyes and a manner of speaking that spoke of overindulgence in drink. He came into the room and stood four paces away from Damen, as though he knew exactly how close he could come and still be just out of reach if Damen strained the chains. 

Then, Laurent sent his guards away. 

“Now, we are alone,” said Laurent.

Damen felt his heart begin to beat slightly faster. 

Laurent circled around where Damen was kneeling. He had to step over the chains on the floor as he paced. Laurent’s gaze tracked over Damen’s body. The slave garments Damen had been given were not an effective covering, and his torso was bare. “You have a scar.”

“I served in the army.”

Laurent took a step closer to Damen. He was very close. As close as the slave had been when she had bathed Damen in Akielos at Adrastus’s orders. Damen felt as though he had seen a cobra in the grass and had frozen in place hoping that it would not strike him. Except in some instinctive way, Damen knew that Laurent was going to strike him, and it was not a surprise when Laurent leaned in even closer, and bit him. 

It hurt. Damen had been braced for a blow, and Laurent’s teeth in his shoulder was a surprise. Damen flinched, and that caused Laurent to bite him deeper, and Damen froze in place again and told himself not to move. It was difficult, not to fight back against the body right next to his. He had been trained to fight when he was attacked, to take a blow and to keep fighting, and yet now he had the unmistakable sense that fighting was not the right step, and he had to control everything he had been trained to do to hold himself still. 

Laurent lifted his head slightly, and then licked at where he had just bit Damen a bit, sucked again, and then said, “Is that supposed to appease me?”

“Would anything?”

Laurent turned around to face the door and the man who had just arrived in the doorway. 

“You find fault in everything, nowadays.”

“Uncle,” Laurent said, and Damen looked at the man in the doorway with recognition and new interest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Laurent’s uncle was both nothing like him, and yet exactly the same. He was physically unlike Laurent: dark haired, heavy-set, middle-aged. Yet there was the same sense of something about him, and Damen also wished he were facing this man on a battlefield at noon and not in a dungeon in the middle of the night.

Laurent’s uncle looked Damen over. “The slave appears to have self-inflicted bleeding.”

Laurent glanced down at Damen’s shoulder, which was oozing slowly. “He’s very clumsy,” said Laurent, wiping his bloody lips on the back of his hand. “Akielons.”

“Don’t let the present from King Kastor bleed to death. That’s not the way to honor the treaty that we now have with Akielos.”

The Regent and Laurent departed, the Regent scolding Laurent about his childish behavior while they left. His lecture indicated that Laurent was twenty and almost of age to inherit, which Damen would not have guessed from looking at him. Laurent had an ageless quality.

Damen laid awake for a while, contemplating Laurent and the Regent and Kastor, and then a physician came in, blinking sleepily in the torchlight, and tended to Damen’s shoulder, treating it with a cinnamon-scented salve. “You mustn’t let him drink too much,” said the physician, “or it will affect your health.”

Damen stared at the man. “How do you suggest I stop him?”


	2. Chapter 2

The physician was full of other useless advice. It was better not to fight him. To hold still so the bite did not tear out the throat. To convince him to bite where he could do less muscle damage. And to drink broth, in the morning and in the evening.

Damen drank the broth the man gave him and kept himself from pointing out that all of this advice would be much better delivered to Laurent himself.

After the Regent left on a hunting trip, Laurent summoned Damen in the middle of the night. “You will serve,” Radel told Damen, frowning at his garments and at the bandage still on his right shoulder, but time did not seem to permit changing Damen into some different ridiculous piece of silk. He was led to a bathing chamber decorated in tile and lit with torches. Standing in the middle of the chamber was Laurent. 

“I have waited six days so that you and I could be alone,” said Laurent.

“Alone with your men guarding the door,” said Damen.

“They will not care if you cry out,” said Laurent. “Don’t hold back.”

But he made no move from his place leaning insouciantly against the tile. 

“Come here,” said Laurent.

Damen walked across the floor. The tiles were slick. He thought about how fast he might have to be, to kill Laurent.

“Strip,” said Laurent.

Damen did. The silk sash Radel tied around his waist was hardly clothing in the first place. 

Laurent wrinkled his nose and pointed at the bandage on Damen’s shoulder. “Take that off.”

Damen unwrapped the bandage awkwardly, working with only his left hand. 

When the bandage dropped to the floor next to Damen’s clothing, Laurent leaned in slightly, looking at his shoulder with interest.

“You like that?” said Damen, and then stopped. A soldier wouldn’t speak that way, to a prince. He had to remember himself.

“It’s important to take pride in one’s work,” said Laurent, and the way he said the phrase made it sound like he were quoting a common saying in Vere.

“Undress me,” said Laurent. 

Laurent’s clothes were more complicated than the sash or the bandage. The undressing took a long time. Damen unlaced the jacket, and the shirt beneath it, and knelt to deal with Laurent’s boots, and then his pants.

Naked, Laurent stood still for a moment, letting Damen look at him, and then he turned toward the water. “Wash me.”

Damen ran the cloth rinsed with soap over Laurent’s back, and thought about his earlier contemplation on how quickly he would have to kill Laurent. 

Laurent seemed to become disinterested in bathing. “Sit,” he said, and Damen lowered himself to sit on a ledge in the bathing pool. In this position, the water came to the middle of his chest. If he had been at home, he might have rested his arms along the side of the pool and soaked. 

Laurent moved next to him. The water lapped higher on Damen’s chest with Laurent’s movement, and then the small ripples faded as Laurent was still. Laurent was very close. Damen began to notice Laurent’s body. The trail of the tips of his golden hair in the water, the pale skin. When he wasn’t moving, he might have been one of the marble statues at the Kingsmeet.

Laurent seemed dissatisfied with his position and moved even closer to Damen. His chest was pressing up against Damen’s bicep, and his leg brushed Damen’s thigh under the water. Damen began to lose control of his thoughts, to forget where he was and to imagine he was somewhere else. 

Laurent noticed, glancing down, and said, “Don’t be presumptuous,” and then before Damen had a chance to say anything, he had moved, lightning fast, and had latched on to Damen’s neck.

Damen cried out. True to Laurent’s earlier promise, the guards paid no attention. The bite was deeper, this time, Damen could tell, and Laurent was sucking on it hard rather than the lapping attention he had paid the previous time. Laurent pulled his mouth away, and Damen could feel the blood flowing down his skin into the water. Laurent shifted next to Damen. He straddled Damen’s left thigh and leaned in closer, pressing himself as close to Damen as a lover.

Damen held himself very still. Their eyes met, for a moment. Laurent’s gaze was heavy. Intoxicated. Blood-drunk and hungry.

Laurent’s lips trailed over the place on Damen’s neck that was still bleeding. He continued past the bleeding wound down Damen’s shoulder. Then he bit Damen again. 

Damen was too focused on not fighting, on not moving, and on not hurting Laurent, that he realized too late that Laurent meant to kill him. He tried to fight then, but his limbs felt heavy and his head felt tired. He shouted, knowing that no one would hear him, or that those who did would not care.

He had half-collapsed against the tile of the bath when he heard a commotion in the darkness. The final thing he heard was the physician’s voice, saying, “If you bite him again, he will die!” before he felt Laurent bite him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Damen woke amid crushed pillows and disturbed silken sheets to find that Laurent’s cool blue gaze was on him. A servant had arrived with Laurent to light the torches, and then disappeared out the door. They were alone. They had not been alone since the baths. Since that time there had always been the watchful eye of the physician, or the entire court watching them be paraded for Laurent’s punishment. 

“There is something that I want,” said Damen.

“Something that you want,” said Laurent, and his tone implied this interested him very little. “What could you possibly offer me of any value?”

Damen raised his arm Laurent’s direction, offering the inside of his wrist. Laurent’s eyes focused in on the movement, and a flash of hunger showed on his face before it was quickly suppressed.

“That is mine to begin with,” said Laurent.

“I won’t fight you,” said Damen. He could sense Laurent’s interest, hidden beneath a veneer of disdain. “Unless you prefer that? If you wish for me to make trouble for your schemes with your uncle? It is your choice.”

“In return?” 

Damen lowered his arm. “The slaves from Akielos,” said Damen.

“The other slaves from Akielos?” said Laurent.

Damen nodded. “They are not well treated. If you assure their well being, we have an agreement.”

Laurent paced around the room. When he walked in front of the torch he cast a shadow on Damen, and then it danced off of him as Laurent continued. “What sign will you give me, of our agreement?”

“Sign?” said Damen.

“What if I am helping your precious slaves, and I should happen to feel hungry?” said Laurent.

Damen understood. He raised his arm again. 

Laurent was still two steps away. He looked at Damen for a long moment. Damen could feel Laurent’s eyes on his neck.

In his sickbed, Damen had overheard the physician giving Laurent the same lectures that Damen had been given himself. In his weakened state, Damen was not to be moved. His wounds were to be kept bandaged. He was to be fed nutritious food and not made to exert himself. “If he loses too much blood, it was affect his brain,” the physician had said.

“That is of no consequence,” Laurent had told the physician.

“Do not bite him until the wounds are completely healed,” the physician had told Laurent.

The bites on Damen’s neck were no longer fresh. They had formed scabs and started to heal. But they were still red and obvious on his skin. 

Laurent took a step closer, and then he reached out and took Damen’s arm in his hands. Damen watched Laurent, and their eyes met as Laurent lowered his head to bite Damen’s arm.

Damen remained quiet as he felt Laurent’s teeth. This was the new agreement, he told himself. If Laurent could help the slaves, then this would be worth it. 

It was quiet between them, for a moment. Laurent was almost dainty, this time. When he was finished, there were only two small punctures on Damen’s wrist, rather than the bloodied half-circles left on his neck and shoulder. Damen did not even feel lightheaded. 

Laurent said, “There is no bargain between us. A prince does not make deals with slaves and insects. Your promises are worth less to me than dirt. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” said Damen.


	4. Chapter 4

The physician’s name was Paschal, and he insisted on inspecting Damen all over, even removing Damen’s flimsy silk sash. Damen objected. “He’s not going to bite me there.”

Paschal ignored him and continued his inventory. He frowned at the two new bites on Damen’s right wrist, courtesy of his bargain with Laurent for the slaves and then his fulfillment of that bargain after the slaves had been safely given over to Torveld’s keeping. Paschal covered them with the same cinnamon-scented salve he applied regularly to Damen’s neck. His inspection of Damen’s lower body found a series of four small red marks on Damen’s thigh. Paschal gave Damen a questioning look.

“That was a fork,” Damen said. It had been, though Laurent had leaned over at Nicaise’s action, bared his teeth at Nicaise, and said, “That’s mine.”

After Damen had been smeared sufficiently with salve, Paschal gave his other admonitions, both to Damen and to the guards outside of his cell. Damen must drink all of the broth. He must be given double rations of other food, particularly meat. He must have blankets in his cell in case he grew cold while he was resting. He must rest enough every day.

“And activity,” Damen said, hoping to have the chains removed.

“Moderate activity only,” said Paschal. “Do not swing a sword around and exert yourself, you might faint.”

But Paschal conceded that sunlight for Damen would be beneficial, which was how Damen was allowed to be taken on a hunt--in a litter.

Laurent ended the hunt in a vicious temper, and Damen was left alone in his cell for a few days. Paschal was pleased when he visited to see that Damen had no new wounds. Damen knew from talking to his guards that Torveld was departing, and he began to think again about escape.

The night after Torveld’s departure, Damen’s broth was particularly tepid. He drank half of it, ignored the rest, and fell into a restless sleep. Damen was asleep when guards he didn’t recognize burst into his cell. He woke quickly. 

“Come on,” one of the guards said, unlocking Damen’s chains from the anchor in the floor. 

“Where are we going?” said Damen.

“The prince has sent for you to attend him in his chambers,” said the guard.

Damen frowned. Laurent wanting to see him in the middle of the night was not so farfetched, but in the past the prince had always visited Damen in his cell.

“Move it.”

Damen felt strange as they walked through the hallways. There were only two guards, and the hallways were empty, so he ought to be thinking of escape, but he felt fevered, distracted. Lightheaded as though Laurent had already drank from him. The light from the torches in the hallway seemed overly bright to his eyes. 

He stumbled as the guard half-shoved him into Laurent’s chambers. Laurent was relaxed on a settee with a book and a goblet; he rose at the intrusion. 

“Your slave was hot to be fucked,” said the guard. 

“No,” said Damen. Laurent ignored both of them.

 

“Where is my captain?” said Laurent. “Why is Huet not on duty?”

The guard shrugged. “I just follow orders.”

“Follow this one, then,” said Laurent. “Find Huet and bring him here.”

The guard dumped Damen’s chains on the floor and left with his counterpart.

Laurent did not seem to have summoned Damen as the guard had insisted, but he seemed distracted by Damen’s presence nonetheless. He left his book and his drink on the table, and approached where Damen was standing near the door.

Laurent was still for a moment, and then Damen realized Laurent was sniffing the air. “You smell good.”

“I don’t feel good,” said Damen. Merely standing was now a strain. He felt as though he were slowly swaying from side to side like a man who has had too much to drink.

Laurent produced a small knife from his belt, and took Damen’s wrist in his hand. He cut Damen’s forearm with the knife, and then lifted it to his face. Damen thought he was going to lick at it, but Laurent sniffed it, only, and then brushed one of his fingers through the blood that had welled up on Damen’s arm and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “He poisoned my horse and my slave,” said Laurent. 

Laurent let Damen sit on one of the over-decorated chairs in his rooms, and once Huet and Jord had arrived to guard Laurent’s door as assigned, then Laurent sent another one of his men for the physician. Damen realized too late that for a time he and Laurent had been alone, and he should have taken advantage of that moment to escape, but the room was swimming around him.

Laurent seemed to realize that drinking from Damen with whatever poison this was coursing through his blood was a bad idea, but he gave the impression that he was tempted nonetheless, sitting close to Damen on the settee and staring at him hungrily.

Paschal arrived, took in Damen resting and struggling to raise his head up from the back of the chair, Damen’s arm smeared with blood, and Laurent standing by, and said, admonishingly, “Your highness--”

“He’s poisoned,” said Laurent.

The physician established that Laurent had not imbibed any of the poison, and proceeded to check Damen’s pulse while counting quietly to himself. Laurent watched. When Damen blinked his eyes open, slowly, he could see Laurent’s blue eyes focused on him.

Paschal seemed to think it likely Damen would die from the poisoning. 

“I’m not going to die,” said Damen calmly. His eyes were still closed, and he was sweating. This was a ridiculous way to die. 

“Treat him,” said Laurent.

Damen was allowed to stay in Laurent’s chambers while Paschal tended him. Laurent himself was called away to testify in front of the council, and Damen was aware of his absence for a while, but then Laurent seemed to have returned, watching over Paschal’s shoulder. 

After a day, Damen had recovered to a point where Paschal also agreed he was not going to die. 

“When can he travel?” said Laurent.

Paschal said that it was far too early to contemplate such things.

“I have to leave for the border the day after tomorrow,” said Laurent.

Damen felt much better after their first day in the saddle. Despite Paschal’s concerns, a day of riding, sunlight, and a sword at his side had done a great deal to restore Damen’s spirits. He ate dinner with more of an appetite than he had had since the poisoning. He retired to Laurent’s chambers in Chastillon at the end of the day feeling better than he had since his capture. 

Laurent, who had spent the day laced up to the chin in riding clothes, and then the evening tending to some kind of business with Govart, did not seem to share Damen’s good will. He questioned Damen for several hours about the map, about the border of Akielos and Vere, about the territory on the path to reach the border, and about the defenses of the holdings along the route. He did not seem tired. 

When it was almost morning, Laurent stood close to Damen. Damen was taller than Laurent, and Laurent had to tilt his head up slightly to look him in the eye. Damen took a deep breath. Laurent’s hair glistened in the light from the candles.

“When we reach the border,” said Laurent. “You might seek retribution for how I have treated you. The dice will roll as they fall. But until then, you will not fight me.”

“Have I fought you?”

Laurent ran his hand down Damen’s arm, from his bicep to his wrist, and then he lifted Damen’s hand and rested it on his own shoulder. He pushed Damen’s sleeve up to bare Damen’s forearm. Damen felt anticipatory, as though he were courting in his home at Ios instead of in Vere in a snake pit.

Laurent brushed the side of his face against Damen’s arm for a moment, his eyes still holding Damen’s gaze, and then he turned his face to the side and fixed his teeth into Damen’s wrist. 

Damen realized he had been holding his breath, and he let it out. 

He could observe Laurent, standing across and at arm’s distance from him like this, and Damen was coming to know his habits. Finding his first bite to his satisfaction, Laurent sucked at it for a bit, and then stopped actively drinking from it and simply lapped at the blood that still welled to the surface. The movement of his tongue hypnotized Damen, and reminded him of a cat with a bowl of cream. Like a cat, Laurent eventually lost interest, and turned his head back to where Damen was watching him. 

Damen removed his arm from where it had been resting on Laurent’s shoulder, and wrapped his other hand over it to apply pressure. 

“We’re done for tonight,” Laurent said, and left to begin his preparations for the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurent had been watching Damen’s fight with Orlant, Damen realized. Laurent was perched on one of the fences that had been quickly erected outside the ring, and it was a warm afternoon but he was wearing a jacket laced up his throat.

“You sent for me?” said Damen, and Laurent’s eyes were on him, but they were focused on his bicep, where Orlant’s sword had scratched the skin in his final parry with steel rather than the wooden practice blades. 

Damen followed Laurent’s gaze. “Are you going to be jealous, again? I suppose this is slightly worse than a fork--”

“Shut up,” said Laurent.

Damen ran a hand over his upper arm and the scratch to check how bad it was, and was satisfied it was only skin deep. A smear of blood stretched down his arm. 

Laurent hissed and Damen felt almost amused.

They were interrupted by Jord and Aimeric, and when Laurent and Jord had departed on some kind of business, Aimeric happily told Damen, “He hates you.”

“He probably avoids the ring because the sight of blood always does this to him,” said Damen, thinking of pampered, indoor princelings.

“He doesn’t avoid the ring,” said Aimeric, and then, at Damen’s curious glance, he snapped his mouth shut, and said, “You don’t know anything.”

Damen had expected some kind of retribution for his remark about jealousy, when Laurent had him alone. But that evening they quarreled about Govart and Damen giving good advice, and Laurent sent Damen to bed while Laurent sat up at his desk.

Damen awoke on his silk slave pallet to Laurent staring at him. 

“Come here,” said Laurent, and Damen rose and went to him, and Laurent took his wrist. 

Laurent’s attitude was perfunctory and dismissive, and yet Damen was lightheaded afterward, as though Laurent had taken more than usual, and Laurent left the tent and Damen ate the peeled orange Laurent had left on a silver plate next to the map so he felt clear-headed enough to go off to where the cooks were serving rations. 

After Damen had eaten, he came upon Laurent attempting to reclaim control of the camp. Too many men were watching, and yet Laurent seemed calm. Damen almost tried to stop him when he began to duel Govart, picturing Laurent speared through and bloodied on the ground. Then his gaze was caught by Laurent’s movements, because it was clear that Aimeric had not been lying. Laurent did not avoid the ring. 

As a swordsman, Laurent was brilliant. He was fast, his movements had incredible strength, from how they fell on Govart, and he was superbly trained and clearly in excellent practice. He did not fight in an Akielon style, but he would have held his own ground among some of the best Akielons swordsmen Damen knew. Damen found his grace enchanting.

Laurent drew blood on Govart’s arm and seemed completely unaffected by its appearance. “Pick it up.”

After the duel, it was Govart speared on the ground and bloodied, and Laurent barely spared him a glance.

“You didn’t know he could fight,” said Jord.

Damen agreed.

“It’s in his blood,” said Jord, but Damen didn’t think that was what his father had warned about when he spoke of the tainted Veretian royal bloodline.

The men spent the day drilling at Laurent’s orders, but Damen spent it eating. Paschal had sent for Damen, clucked over his wrist, taken his pulse and frowned, and sent for extra rations. There was no broth, on the march, for which Damen was grateful, but there was porridge and dried strips of meat, and Paschal watched while Damen ate all of it. Damen objected that he ought to be with the other men breaking camp and loading it up yet again for the practice, but Paschal said no, and handed him another bowl of porridge. 

After Damen had finished, Paschal pulled up a short stool across from where Damen sat in the physician’s tent. 

“You are a strong man,” said Paschal. “That is the only reason you are still alive today. But if you let this continue, you will not be a strong man by the time we arrive at the border.” Paschal’s gaze was serious and level. “I have seen this before.”

“In the Prince’s other playthings?”

“No,” said Paschal. “The Prince’s does not--the Prince’s habits are austere. Have I told you about how I came to work in the Prince’s camp?”

“No.”

“I was the Regent’s physician,” said Paschal.

“So you ministered to his household.”

Paschal said, “And to his boys.”

Damen said nothing. 

“Food can only do so much,” said Paschal. “The body needs time to replenish the blood supply. Small amounts, perhaps every couple of weeks, and never so much that you lose consciousness, and you can keep up. More than that, and--” Paschal seemed to search for a way of describing this. “And you are fighting a war of attrition, where your troops are being slowly decimated at a rate they cannot be replaced.”

There was a period of silence between them. 

Said Damen, “The Prince and I have come to an agreement about my service on the way to the border.”

Paschal leaned back on his stool. “Report to me again tomorrow.”

That evening, Damen and Laurent argued about Laurent’s handling of Govart.

“These are lives, not pieces in a chess game with your uncle,” said Damen. 

He and Laurent were sitting in front of one Laurent’s maps of the border. Earlier, Damen had stretched out his right arm to point at something on the map, and then rested his hand on the table afterward. Laurent was resting his hand on Damen’s wrist and staring at it in a considering manner that Damen had come to recognize. 

“You’re wrong,” said Laurent, his eyes still on Damen’s wrist. “We are on my uncle’s board and these men are all his pieces.”

“Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much like him you are.”

Laurent’s eyes raised to Damen’s, and widened. He was more surprised by Damen’s comment than Damen had expected. Laurent withdrew his hand from Damen’s arm. 

“Get out,” said Laurent, and Damen rose, and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Laurent spent the next week drilling the men at Nesson. Damen spent the first days of the drills reporting to Paschal, where he was inspected to ensure he did not have more bites, forced to eat extra rations, and only allowed light duties such as folding the clean white cloth to be used in bandages.

After three days, Damen had approval to participate in drills with the rest of the men, and even lacking the first three days of practice and with all of Paschal’s worries about blood loss, Damen had more stamina for the activity than Aimeric did.

Laurent had explained his reasons for not turning Aimeric away, and Jord watched Aimeric closely while he struggled.

Damen didn’t know if Paschal had been lecturing Laurent as well as Damen, or if their previous argument had had a more profound effect on Laurent than Damen realized, but Laurent didn’t drink from Damen in the rest of the fortnight while they were drilling near Nesson. He didn’t seem angry or upset with Damen, and listened to Damen’s opinions about the men’s skills at drills evenly, and assigned Damen menial tasks like undressing him or tending to his armor.

They still shared a tent. Laurent watched Damen in a sharp way that sometimes felt to Damen as though it might precede a command, but the command was not issued.

After two weeks, Laurent found his messenger’s horse, and prepared to go in to Nesson Eloy. He requested Damen’s presence in his tent before their departure, and Damen had thought -- perhaps now. Perhaps Laurent wanted the strength it gave him before whatever his mission was in the town. That would make a kind of sense, as a plan, though he should perhaps not drink from the same man he intended to take along as a guard.

But that was not Laurent’s plan. Instead, Laurent had a set of Veretian riding clothes laying out in the tent, and he told Damen, “Change.”

They were followed, and Laurent led them inside a brothel to lose their pursuers.

The maitresse greeted them, and seemed to recognize Laurent, and what he was. She accepted his coin with lowered eyes, “Your highness. Are you hungry?”

“No,” said Laurent. Damen was engaged in retying the laces of his jacket after Laurent had directed one of the women working in the brothel to undo it.

“Entertainment, then?” said the maitresse. “My girls would--”

“Privacy,” said Laurent, and once the two of them were alone, they escaped through the window of one of the back rooms.

Later, at an inn, Laurent donned his earring disguise and played Volo at cards. When he had lost a great deal of coin, he returned to straddle the bench next to Damen. “What’s the food like?”

Damen held out a small piece of bread, offering it to Laurent. “Try it.” It was feeding some sort of dangerous predator.

Laurent leaned in. He was really going to do it. His breath was warm on Damen’s hand, and his lips closed around the piece of bread, taking it from Damen’s fingers. 

Laurent chewed, swallowed. “Give me another,” he said. Damen felt suddenly conscious of how close Laurent was sitting on the bench. One of Laurent’s hands rested lightly on Damen’s thigh. “Control yourself,” Laurent said. Damen wondered if the other inn guests were watching them.

Damen tore off another piece of bread, and held it out again. 

Laurent leaned in again. He ate the second piece of bread, and managed, while taking it from Damen’s fingers, to prick Damen’s thumb with one of his incisors, leaving behind a small cut. 

Damen’s face tightened at the cut, but Laurent acted as though there were another crumb of bread still in Damen’s hand that he had missed, and took Damen’s thumb into his mouth.

Damen froze. He could hear himself breathing. Laurent’s mouth was warm on his thumb. Damen’s other fingers brushed against Laurent’s chin. Laurent tilted his head slightly to the side, coquettish, and the fall of his hair caught in Damen’s hand. 

Laurent sucked on his thumb with a gentle pressure. The pad of Damen’s thumb pressed against his tongue. It was impossible not to think--

Laurent raised his eyes to meet Damen’s, brushed his tongue over the cut on Damen’s finger again, and released it. He leaned in a bit closer to Damen and said, “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

Damen wondered, if he agreed, if Laurent would bite him right there in the middle of the common room. Perhaps Laurent would do that even if Damen did not agree. 

“Take me upstairs.”

Laurent led the way through the common room and up the stairs at the back. He glanced back at Damen once as he walked, arch and coy, a pet who had his master exactly where he wished and knew it.

It was the earring, Damen told himself. The earring was meant to be sensual. He had spent too long in Vere and its symbols were affecting him. And it was the game. That was the trouble with subterfuge. Play master and pet for an evening and it caused men to want things that they did not otherwise think of.

They reached the room, and there was an Akielon man inside it. Laurent talked with the man briefly, read his ciphered message and gave him a ring and sent him off with a reply. The man left, and then Laurent left to bathe, telling Damen that he did not require attendance.

Alone, Damen sighed. 

He attended to things that require attending. He went outside to get some fresh air. It was a cloudless night and the moon was clear. As he returned inside, he fetched another plate of food from the kitchen, and brought it up the stairs with him. Laurent hadn’t eaten more than two pieces of bread all evening; he might be interested in food. Laurent hadn’t fed for two weeks; he might not be interested in food.

Damen bathed. He returned to their room. Laurent had turned the blankets Damen had claimed in front of the fire into a nest, and had eaten precisely half of the food on the plate Damen had brought. Damen sat down next to the fire. 

The mood between them was easy. Laurent seemed relaxed. Damen watched Laurent eat a final bite of bread from the plate and lick his own fingers. Damen remembered the feel of Laurent’s mouth on his hand and shifted the way his legs were positioned for some discretion. Laurent eyed him, amused.

“What happens if you don’t eat?” said Damen. 

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Starvation.”

Damen huffed out a breath of air. “No, I mean--”

Laurent smiled slowly. “I know what you meant.”

Damen waited. 

“If you want an answer,” said Laurent, “You have to ask a question.”

“How does it work?” said Damen. “You eat food, but you also drink--”

“Is that a question?” said Laurent, arch.

“Yes.”

Laurent looked at Damen consideringly. “Do you suppose it is wise, to share all of my secrets with my enemy, simply because he asks me?”

Damen thought back to all of the nights they had stayed up looking at maps of the border territory, when Laurent had asked him about Akielon defenses. “I know something of that feeling.”

“I suppose you do.” Laurent placed his hands behind him on the blanket and leaned back casually. “I have to eat food like anyone else,” he said. “I don’t have to drink, but it is--” he seemed to search for a word. “Better.”

Damen nodded. He waited to see if Laurent would say something more, but he seemed to be finished.

“Do you want to--now?” said Damen.

“Yes,” Laurent said, too fast, as though he couldn’t stop himself. 

Damen sat up a bit straighter, waiting to be commanded. 

“But I am not going to,” said Laurent, and he rose from his place near the fire to take the bed.


	7. Chapter 7

Later that evening, Damen stood on the balcony across from the inn and saw Laurent eyeing a jump he could “probably” make and wished that Laurent had bitten him earlier, for the same extra strength and quickness that had fueled Laurent’s fight with Govart earlier in their journey.

Laurent made the jump anyway, and then after the chase in Nesson-Eloy they separated, and then there was the ambush, and the rock slide, and the victorious night battle, and then Damen fell asleep at Laurent’s direction and slept soundly until the sun had already risen the following morning.

Laurent was amused, that morning. Damen had come to recognize the tone of his voice. “No, stay abed,” Laurent said. “I have no need of any services this morning.”

Damen groaned. “Good morning.” He poked his head out from under a blanket to find Laurent looking at him. 

Laurent was smiling, and the weight of his gaze felt simply fond to Damen for a moment before the character of it changed. It was heavier, charged. “Come here.”

Damen rose from his pallet. He had slept only in his pants and his shirt was not within reach. 

Laurent made a beckoning gesture, and Damen walked across the tent.

There was a long moment while Laurent regarded him. Laurent looked him over from head to toe in a long gaze, and then his eyes focused on the new pink skin of the healed bites on Damen’s neck.

Damen held out his wrist, and Laurent took it, but he simply looked at it for a long minute also.

“Are you counting them?” said Damen.

“Shut up,” said Laurent, not displeased.

“Wouldn’t this be—easier—sitting down?” said Damen. Lying down, he thought, but did not say.

“No,” said Laurent. 

Damen raised an eyebrow. 

“I do not wish,” said Laurent, still looking at Damen’s wrist and seemingly faintly dissatisfied now, “to become too comfortable.”

Laurent dropped Damen’s right arm. It fell back to his side. Damen felt a wave of something that was not quite disappointment.

“Give me your other arm,” said Laurent.

Damen raised his left arm toward Laurent, which was unmarked. Laurent took it and performed another inspection. Laurent ran his fingers over the skin and felt at Damen’s pulse the way Paschal did when he told Damen to drink more broth. Damen became conscious that his heart was beating remarkably fast.

Then Laurent raised Damen’s wrist to his mouth.

For a moment, Damen could feel Laurent’s lips on his skin, but no teeth, as though Laurent were a courtier pressing a kiss to the back of a lady’s hand. Laurent’s eyes met his, and then Damen felt his teeth.

Damen opened his mouth slightly at the pain, but did not make a noise, and then as Laurent sucked gently on the place he had just bitten, Damen closed his mouth again, deliberately.

It didn’t last very long. Afterward, Laurent dismissed him brusquely. “Send Jord in. Go eat breakfast.”

At midday, Paschal observed the cloth Damen had tied around his left wrist and insisted on applying a salve. He gave Damen an extra serving of lunch, but Damen refused to shirk his portion of the chores in that afternoon’s march, and he felt fine. He felt excellent, actually. The victory the day before had been heartening, the sun felt excellent. His wrist did not bother him.

The bandage had not escaped the attention of the other men in the camp, either, and there was now enough camaraderie that this did not go unremarked upon. That evening, sitting around one of the fires, Lazar said to Damen, “So, what’s it like?”

Rochert, Jord and Aimeric might not have had Lazar’s boldness in asking the question, but they turned interestedly in Damen’s direction for the answer. Damen met Lazar’s eyes evenly. 

“What’s what like?”

Lazar took a swig of ale. “Fucking one of the bloodsuckers.”

“I’m not fucking him,” said Damen.

Said Rochert, “I’ve always wondered about it.”

Lazar scoffed, “Of course you have, you’re obsessed with ways to get off that might kill you.”

“I am not,” said Rochert. “I only tried that once—”

“We have all heard your story before,” said Jord to Rochert, which was true, and Damen felt no interest in hearing it again despite how it might have distracted the line of questioning from him.

“I think it’s romantic,” said Aimeric. “To be that close to someone you care about.” He turned fond eyes on Jord, who stared at the fire but turned faintly red.

“Are you going to turn into one of them?” said Lazar.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Rochert. “He’s not a Veretian bastard.”

“Can he really hypnotize you with his brain?” said Lazar. 

Damen raised an eyebrow.

“I heard they can transform into bats,” said Aimeric, and Damen turned his incredulous eyebrow Aimeric’s direction.

Lazar nodded at the two bowls in front of Damen. “I might let someone bite me for a chance at double rations.”

“Yes, the gruel today was amazing,” said Damen, and then amongst their laughter, he took his two bowls back to the serving tent and went to bed. 

The following morning, Damen took the bandage off of his wrist and checked that the two punctures were no longer bleeding. He decided that they were not, and that the two red marks were less obvious than the whole bandage, and tossed the bandage into the fire. Damen knew from his inventory of Paschal’s supplies that there were plenty more.

Laurent decided that they should practice Akielon, to avoid eavesdroppers. It amusing to watch him pick his way carefully in Damen’s language; his accent was charmingly awful. Laurent kept using the wrong form of address and speaking to Damen as an equal rather than as a slave.

“I heard you can transform into a bat,” said Damen, testing Laurent’s vocabulary.

Laurent laughed lightly. “Yes, but I don’t like eating mosquitos.”

Damen nodded, keeping his expression straight. “Because you feel kinship with them.”

Laurent’s eyes widened in surprise, and he laughed more deeply. His eyes crinkled at the edges. “Who is spreading these rumors?”

“Aimeric.”

Laurent’s face darkened slightly, and he changed the topic to the map in front of them, pointing to it on the table. “Tell me about the riding conditions of the area by the river.”


	8. Chapter 8

They arrived at Aquitart. Laurent caught Damen by the arm as he was tending to the horses. “After it is dark,” Laurent said in Akielon, “I want you to meet me here. Discreetly.” 

Damen nodded his agreement. 

Visiting Halvik’s tribe was more relaxing than running around the rooftops of Nesson-Eloy. Laurent talked with Halvik. By the fire, Damen enjoyed the hakesh and Halvik’s girls. 

At the end of the night, Damen found himself holding his pants up with his hands as he made his way to the tiny tent he had been assigned to with Laurent.

Laurent laughed at him as he collapsed on the furs and tried to find a position that didn’t leave one of his limbs outside of the tent. Laurent propped his head up on his arm and watched Damen, smiling. His hair fell over his hand. 

“Anyone who wants to conquer you only needs an army of women,” said Laurent.

“They were very determined women,” said Damen.

He found a comfortable position and looked over at Laurent. Laurent was relaxed; his eyes were still crinkled at the edges in amusement. One of Damen’s arms was stretched out in Laurent’s direction. Damen lifted it slightly in a gesture. “Are you hungry? I can’t move; you will have to come here.” 

Laurent was still smiling. “No,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

Damen imagined it; Laurent rolling across the tent, leaning against Damen’s side as he curled in. Pressing against Damen and making a satisfied noise in his throat as he drank.

Damen blinked, stopping himself. This was too dangerous to be imagining with Laurent in the tent right next to him. Laurent was his enemy; Laurent was not a lover to curl up with fondly in a mountain tent. He was only going to see Laurent to the border in fulfillment of their agreement, and then he was going to return to his homeland. 

The next morning, they left with a great deal of new goodwill, and Damen felt cheerful as they rode down the mountain.

Their second encounter with the Vaskians was not nearly as encouraging. Laurent said something to the clan leader, who backhanded him casually, and then Laurent said something else that inspired one of the others to hit him, and then Damen lost his patience and managed to take down one of the men who had been holding him back, and the situation turned into a melee. Laurent was dragged off by the clan leader, and Damen was distracted by a man coming at him with a curved sword.

Then Halvik’s women were there, and the melee turned into a rout, with the women chasing the men down from horseback and pillaging whatever goods were in sight and of interest. 

Damen vented his frustrations on several of the men who had beaten Laurent earlier in the evening, and then realized that he hadn’t seen Laurent in some time, and began to hunt him down specifically. He found the clan chief’s tent and entered.

Laurent was tied to one of the tent stakes. Damen could see his yellow hair first, from the tent flap, and he could see Laurent tense at the sound of someone Laurent couldn't see entering the tent. 

"It's me," he said, to give Laurent some reassurance, and then he walked around to face Laurent. 

"Have the women arrived?" said Laurent. Laurent had clearly continued to offend the clan chieftain even after they've been separated. His nose was bleeding and his lip was split. Laurent held himself awkwardly, as though his ribs were also sore, bruised probably, and hopefully not broken.

"Yes." Damen had a curved sword he had claimed from one of the men who attacked him, but no knife, and he looked around the tent for something more convenient than the sword to cut Laurent free. 

There was a knife in a sheath in a pile, and Damen took it and came back to where Laurent was standing. He kept one eye on the tent flap, trying to ensure he was ready if they were attacked. 

Damen placed his sword for quick access if needed, and began to saw at the ropes securing Laurent's hands, standing close to Laurent and looking at his work over Laurent's shoulder. Laurent's wrists were rubbed raw; he had clearly been struggling.

Damen was not impressed with the clan chieftain's ability to keep his knives sharp. Damen had one of the ropes fraying and almost cut when Laurent made a desperate sounding noise, and then Laurent lunged forward, pulling the ropes taut, and half fell against Damen's chest.

Damen started to ask him if he was hurt, when he felt Laurent's teeth in his neck. 

Damen made a surprised noise, and instinctively pulled away and stepped back. Blood dripped down his throat. Laurent strained against the ropes still holding his wrists to the tent post. Laurent's eyes were focused on Damen's neck. Damen stared at him for a moment. Laurent’s lips were bloody and his eyes fixated. Damen could feel the bite mark on his neck dripping down to stain his collar. Laurent whimpered.

Damen stepped back into Laurent's range, and when Laurent lunged toward him again Damen was ready to half-catch him this time, and he balanced Laurent with one hand on Laurent’s waist and Damen’s chest bracing Laurent's weight. Damen prepared himself for the feeling of Laurent's teeth, again, but Laurent just found the bite he'd already made and sucked on it. 

Laurent was leaning heavily against him, and Damen forced himself to keep his eyes open and on the tent flap in case they were interrupted. 

Damen worried that Laurent’s desperation would lead him to the lack of moderation he’d exhibited in the baths, and that Damen would have to stop Laurent before he began to feel weakened, but after a moment, Damen could recognize that Laurent had stopped actively drinking from the bite and was just pressing his tongue against it and lapping at the blood that escaped. 

“I wanted to untie you,” said Damen. When he spoke, his throat moved against Laurent’s lips.

Damen stepped back again, and looked at Laurent. Laurent stood up without leaning on Damen as he moved away. The light in the tent at night was not good, and Laurent’s mouth was red with blood, but Laurent looked better. The red bruises blossoming on his face had already faded, and he held himself more comfortably.

“Untie me now,” said Laurent.

Damen stared at him for another moment, thinking of his neck, which was still bleeding onto his collar. Laurent licked his lips, and his eyes flicked between Damen’s eyes and his neck.

After a moment, Damen walked around to the back of the tent pole and finished cutting Laurent free.


	9. Chapter 9

Laurent was injured. Damen had known there would be some reason that he had not come at Charcy and instead set himself up in a confection of a tent outside Fortaine. So Damen had looked closely at how Laurent stood, how he held himself, where the tension in his body was, and compared it to his knowledge of Laurent’s body and his usual careful posture, and then grasped his shoulder.

Damen was correct, but he felt little satisfaction at the accuracy of his guess in the face of Laurent’s cruelty.

“The man who stood by me, who gave me good counsel, who never lied to me, he was an illusion,” said Laurent.

“I never lied to you,” said Damen.

“That man never existed,” said Laurent. “I don’t know who you are.”

“We are the same,” Damen said. “I am him.”

“Come here, then,” said Laurent. He beckoned for Damen to step closer. He meant to bite Damen, Damen knew. Damen could see the hunger in Laurent’s eyes. That made sense. The still-bleeding injury in his shoulder would have lost him a lot of blood, and he might have been injured in other ways in the same event, whatever it had been. He would want blood for strength, the way he had after he’d been beaten by the Vaskians, and the taste of it had restored him.

Damen thought of Nikandros and the Akielons outside, of the men who had died fighting at Charcy waiting for reinforcements that did not arrive.

“No,” he said. “You’re right. I am the king; you will parlay with me like a king. Tell me why you have called me here.”

Nikandros was warning Damen off of Laurent from the first day that they met, even before he found out. 

If Damen had continued to let the slaves dress him, it would probably never have happened. As he adopted Akielon fashions rather than the Veretian ones he had been wearing, he could have simply continued pinning a cloak at his neck and wearing bracers on his wrists and no one would have noticed anything except the king setting a new trend for short cloaks and taking an uncharacteristic interest in archery.

But he had rejected slaves to dress him, and demanding a squire instead, and squires were not trained in the manner of slaves.

Nikandros came to his tent and told everyone else to leave. 

Damen stood, wondering what the trouble was that required a confidential report.

Nikandros came and stood next to him, and then tugged at the cloak Damen was wearing--which was closed with his pin, the pin Nikandros had risked treason to take--and let the fabric drop to the floor.

“Who did this to you?” said Nikandros.

“I see my squire cannot be trusted,” said Damen, mildly.

“Who?” said Nikandros. 

“You know who did it,” said Damen. 

“I’ll kill him,” said Nikandros. 

“You will not,” said Damen. “I forbid it.”

“He’s bewitched you,” said Nikandros. “He has your mind caught in some kind of trap.”

“That is a myth,” said Damen, “like transforming into a bat.”

Nikandros gestured at the scars on Damen’s neck. “I thought this was all a myth.” He ran a hand through his own hair. “I know what it would have taken to subdue you--to imagine what he must have done, to do this--”

“Don’t think of it.”

“Take off all of your clothes,” Nikandros told Damen.

“Are you giving your king an order?” said Damen.

Nikandros said nothing but stared at Damen evenly. 

“You also,” said Damen, indulging his childhood friend, and the two of them stripped in silence. Damen bore Nikandros’s intrusive inspection. He was reminded of Paschal, and the taste of broth. Damen did not pay much attention to the scarring himself, but he saw it again now through his friend’s eyes. His wrists were not so bad, mostly pairs of dots that were not immediately obvious as to their source. Nikandros understood, of course, but if Damen were not not wear a bracer they did not immediately draw attention among all of his other scars. His neck was worse; there was a line of obvious bites along his shoulder from the baths, and the more recent injury from the Vaskian camp was still a series of scabs. Damen had reopened it in the fighting at Charcy, and it had bled again, and was now healing a second time. 

After Nikandros had made a through check of Damen’s body, Damen spoke. “I am fine.”

Nikandros turned large eyes on Damen. “Are you certain I cannot fight him.”

“Yes,” said Damen. “Also he is surprisingly good; you would need to be prepared.”

“It pains me,” said Nikandros. “We ride along the border and the people cheer at his banner, but to know that the man they are cheering for has done this to you--and that you have not struck back at him but are allying with him and giving generous gifts--”

“I struck first.” said Damen.

Nikandros stopped.

“We struck first,” said Damen. “I killed his brother and I set into motion things that are playing out to this day.”

“That was honorable,” said Nikandros. “You challenged him on the field, you didn’t trick him into--” Nikandros did not even seem willing to put it into words.

Damen gestured at himself. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t killed Auguste.”

Nikandros seemed to give up, and he collapsed down onto one of the piles of cushions spread out in the tent. There were refreshments set out next to the cushions, and Nikandros drank from one of the goblets.

Damen sat down next to him more slowly. 

“Thank you, old friend, for caring about me,” said Damen.

Nikandros took another drink from the goblet. “If he tries to bite me, I’m killing him.”

Damen laughed, startled, both by the notion that Laurent would try to bite anyone else and Nikandros’s wry humor. “All right, permitted,” said Damen, smiling, and he reached out his hand for Nikandros to hand him the goblet.

Nikandros’s joke started Damen thinking about Laurent and other people. Paschal had told him, back in their first days on the road, that the Prince’s habits were austere. Laurent had said in the inn that it wasn’t necessary for him to drink. Did that mean that he abstained, until that day when Damen was presented in front of him in chains?

Damen could tell from the way Laurent held himself on his horse that his shoulder wound was healing naturally, so presumably he wasn’t, now, either. Though when they arrived at Marlas and the slave master Kolnas presented Laurent with his best and Laurent touched Isander’s hair, Damen wondered. Isander followed Laurent obediently off to his rooms and to the bath. Damen thought of it.

He imagined Laurent and Isander first in the blue and green tiled baths of the palace at Arles, and then he corrected himself, because he knew the baths at Marlas. He had bathed there before when visiting Nikandros. So he moved them from the setting of his own memories of bathing Laurent to the real baths at Marlas, which were filled with white marble. There was water that flowed over a wall as an artificial waterfall, Damen remembered, and then a relaxing pool with benches for after washing. They would be in the pool, Damen supposed. Blood might drip down from Laurent’s mouth and fall in tiny red drops on the marble, Damen thought. 

Isander might cry out, when Laurent’s teeth cut him, because he was a slave and not accustomed to such harsh treatment. Or perhaps he would stop his voice with the perfect obedience he was trained to, and merely tremble, waiting.

Then they would retire from the baths, and they might be right through the dividing door of the connecting room royalty were given at Marlas. Damen fought the urge to press his ear to the door ridiculously.

After Laurent drank with Makedon, Damen helped him down the corridor to the Queen’s chambers that he had been allotted. 

Laurent was talkative, drunk, it was amusing until Damen thought about Laurent’s likely temper the following morning. 

“I miss you,” said Laurent.

Damen snorted. “Yes, I suppose you wish you could have healed your shoulder much faster. Or is it that you think you could have beaten me in the ring if you’d only been stronger?”

“No,” said Laurent. “I don’t even care about that. I miss our conversations.”

“You’re drunk,” said Damen, half to Laurent and half to himself. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You don't like me like this?” said Laurent, lying where Damen had poured him onto the bed.

“You are not yourself.”

“Maybe it’s better. Defenseless. Free. Less dangerous.”

Damen brushed some of Laurent’s hair away from his face. “I like danger,” he said. “Sleep it off.”

**Author's Note:**

> check out the author's tumblr for more chapters as I write: [link](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/)


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